In Over Your Head

The shock of shattering the flawless looking glass; Pinwheeling upon impact, with a scream that’s smothered By the mind-numbing cold that consumes you whole, and which Cyclones against the back of your throat.

Your lungs fill with bitter hellfire, and you panic. Fighting the fog and grasping At nothing but air bubbles. Your brain is but an anchor, Tugging you down to terrible,

Dark,

Depths. Your sobs merely ripples Radiating out from the point of entry, Mimicking the shudders of your fading frame.

Fighting only makes it worse, Only makes you descend and spiral out of control faster. Gills, oh if only you could develop gills… Then you could be rid of the crushing weight On your chest, and relieve The pressure emanating from the inside of your neck Out. Your legs have stopped working, Have stopped kicking, and your Arms dangle involuntarily over your head, A shameful white flag.

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